


Beware, Beware.

by snakebiteheart



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: AU, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakebiteheart/pseuds/snakebiteheart
Summary: Small one-shot based on a prompt from a friend! AU in which the Dragonborn was not successful in defeating Alduin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally uploaded to another blog, and I'm not entirely sure why it never ended up here sooner. It seemed fitting to do so now in light of the remaster and how quickly that game consumed my life again.   
> enjoy!

It was the moment everyone had been waiting for: The Dragonborn ready to defeat Alduin at last. It was the moment everyone had been praying for: The Dragonborn using her voice to shout Alduin straight out of the sky. The Dragonborn would kill the monster and save them all. They were sure of it.

As the Dragonborn stood, sword in hand, side by side with the three heroes of the last great battle with the World-Eater, she remembered the faith her people had shown in her prowess, taking strength from the memories of their blind optimism. A fierce sense of pride swelled in her chest, fuelling the power that was already building there as she prepared to clear the mist that concealed their enemy. If not for herself, she would slay this beast and she would keep Skyrim safe. If it was the last thing she did, she would give her people something to sing about; a mighty story to tell for generations to come.

Gormlaith Golden-Hilt gave the instruction to Shout, to rid the air of the thick fog Alduin had called forth to hide in. Their voices combined was a force of incredible power, and the mist evaporated within seconds, only to be called back again by Alduin. The Dragonborn sneered. He feared them, he feared them so greatly that he would rather hide than face them in battle. How dare he claim any title other than _coward_.

Twice more they had to shout away the mist before Alduin gave up trying to cloak himself. The air remained clear, but the brilliantly hued sky remained empty. The Dragonborn’s heart began to thrum frantically. Any moment now, the monster from a thousand nightmares would appear before them and the final battle to defeat him would begin. She gripped her sword tighter, and clenched her jaw in determination, but it then it all happened much too fast.

There was an ear-splitting roar that rumbled the very ground they stood on. Fire shot from the sky from directions that couldn’t be placed, disorienting the heroes and throwing them off the task at hand. The Dragonborn lunged to the side, rolling away from a ball of flames that crashed into the earth mere feet away from where she had been standing.

Alduin was but a large black mass as he soared and swooped, using the momentary confusion to his full advantage. One second there were four warriors standing between Alduin and his plans, and a second later, there were only three.

As Alduin flew low over the heads of the heroes once again, something dropped from his mouth. The body fell at the feet of Felldir the Old with a sickening thud. Having been in the dragon's jaws, mashed between razor sharp teeth longer than the average Nord’s arm, the corpse was mangled and bloody. The mouth was hanging open slightly, frozen in an expression of shock. The eyes were blank and staring… lifeless.

It had only taken a moment, _one single moment_ , of failed concentration and it was over. For the heroes. For Sovngarde. For Skyrim. It was all over in the blink of an eye.

The World-Eater was victorious; the Dragonborn was dead.

*******

Ralof had never been a superstitious man. But when he woke up that morning, he just knew something was wrong. His sleep had been restless and broken the night before, plagued by anxiety and a vague sense of fear. He tried to shake off the feelings, pinning it on a storm brewing somewhere or maybe a chicken having gone missing in the village. Nothing to worry about. Staying with his mother again was rubbing off on him in all the wrong ways.

At the crack of dawn, unable to toss and turn any longer, he rolled out of bed and threw on his Stormcloak gear. Hesitantly, he reached for his Warhammer. It had been a while since he’d donned the uniform and held such a weapon, but there was a tiny niggling voice in the back of his mind telling him he might need it today.

To his surprise, his mother was already awake and pacing around the living area absently.

‘Morning.’ Ralof said slowly, carefully.

‘Do you feel it?’ Her eyes met his, sharp and knowing.

Ralof didn’t want to admit that yes, he did feel it. The atmosphere was heavy and wrong – even in the house – for a place as peaceful and calm as Riverwood. Now he was more awake, too, he realised the sun hadn’t broken yet. It was still dark out.

‘My hair’s been standing on end all night.’ His mother rubbed her forearm, and her pacing increased as Ralof walked towards the window for a better look at the weather. Perhaps he had been right about a storm rolling in.

He was wrong.

Ralof’s eyes popped open in surprise. Confusion and curiosity urged him to open the door, to step outside and see properly, just in case the glass of the window had been showing him some sort of illusion. Again, he was wrong.

The sky was not pitch-black, but a swirling mass of dark colours. The clouds, a deep purple, were twisted, contorted as they were pulled up towards what looked like a giant hole in the sky. The edges were glowing, silhouetting the figures that were, quite literally, flying out of it. Huge and menacing, they soared away from the vortex, and the sound of a hundred flapping wings reached Ralof’s ears.

The reality of the situation didn’t hit him fully until one of the creatures roared loud enough to make Ralof’s bones quiver. His fighting instincts kicked in and the warrior in him reacted automatically. His hands gripped his Warhammer and he took up stance in front of his house, but his eyes roamed upwards and he saw the overwhelming number of dragons that were swarming the sky. Their roars were deafening, but one, louder above the rest, sounded… triumphant.

A dragon blacker than night with eyes that glowed like rubies emerged from the hole, and that was when Ralof’s bravado faltered. The anxiety and the fear that had been twisting in his stomach boiled over and he stumbled back, completely and utterly consumed by the panic that was now pounding through his veins. To see such a horror unleashed upon Skyrim meant only one thing, and Ralof’s mind refused to accept it. To accept it would mean facing the reality that there was no one left here to save them, and stop this hoard of monsters from devouring them all and destroying the land.

The Dragonborn was dead, and they were doomed to follow.


End file.
